


just the way i'm supposed to be

by la_victorienne



Category: Alice (TV 2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-10
Updated: 2009-12-10
Packaged: 2018-10-15 10:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_victorienne/pseuds/la_victorienne
Summary: the dawn is breaking, and it's a new day.





	

She watched him while he slept once before, with his hat on his knee and his eyes moving under his lids, like he couldn't stop running even in his dreams. And this is different. Like someone flipped a switch. Like he's on the other side of the looking glass.

She raises a hand, touches the contour of his cheek. He doesn't even stir, just keeps breathing, in and out, to his own little metronome. She presses harder, just below his temple, and puts her mouth next to his ear. "Hatter."

Still nothing, and it makes her smile. "Somebody's faking," she sings, ever so low, until she sees the smile start. "You were awake the whole time, weren't you?"

"Since you moved," he replies, and opens one eye to look at her. "Fooled you, though. Admit it."

He gets a kiss instead, and she feels him lean into it the way he's always leaned towards her, the way he's always moved in her direction. One of his hands cups the back of her neck and holds her there, so she can't pull away. She's not sure he understands – she's not going anywhere. Not for a long, long while.

She was always so scared that people were running from her that she never saw the ones running to her – blocking their paths with walls and map pins and a mean roundhouse. Now that he's here, in her world, his head on her pillow and his hat on her iron bedpost, she can feel the pieces of her kingdom coming down, all around her, and she thinks she might know what the Queen of Hearts felt like.

Not that she's ruined the lives of thousands of people. Just that she's never felt this vulnerable before in her life. She thinks she ought to clarify that, even in her own head – she spent enough time in the truth room to know what her mind can do. She presses a last, firm, kiss to his lips, and wriggles until her head is under his chin.

"What are you thinking about?"

She likes that it doesn't occur to her to lie. "The Queen of Hearts. And pancakes. Mostly pancakes." Okay. It doesn't occur to her to lie a lot.

"Why on earth would anyone bake a cake in a pan? Cakes go in tins. That's why they're called cake tins." Alice laughs, a peculiar whuffling sound against his bare collarbone. "Oy. That tickles."

"Pancakes are cooked on the stove, not baked. You'll like them, they're fluffy. You like fluffy things, don't you? And sweet?"

"I highly doubt anything could be as sweet as this," he says, almost so low she doesn't hear him.

And, all right. Suddenly breakfast isn't so important after all. Not when he's brushing the hair out of her eyes and pressing his lips to her eyelids, first one, then the other. Not when his hand is inching down her lower back, stroking warm, sleepy skin into waking. Not when his eyes are closed, and he's vulnerable too, and they're exposed, together, as the coverlet falls off the bed.

"Are you sure?"

Not even Jack asked every time.

He nudges; she rolls. There's an arm under her head to catch her, fingers on her hip to keep her steady. She should have known – he throws too mean a punch to be bad at this. And those fingers aren't anywhere near her hip anymore. When she arches, he presses a long, warm kiss to the hollow of her throat, and she laughs, because his stubble tickles.

She opens her eyes when she's full with him. She never wants to forget the look on his face as he stills, sighs. He looks like he's home.

Which he damn well better be, if she has anything to say about it. "Come here," she whispers, and his eyes flutter open, too. "Kiss me."

She hopes he knows that what she means is that she's not going anywhere, not without him. She thinks he does. She isn't sure she could ever say it out loud. But her hands on his back, her knees by his hips, wrapped around his body, unwilling to let go – she's saying it in all the ways she can, in all the ways she knows how. She feels her stomach clench and pulls him deeper, until she hears his breath falter.

"Alice," he says.

"Faster," she whispers.

She gets a strangled groan in response, and she laughs again, until he starts to move.

And though it's only been one night, she knows how this will go. She feels the end in him rising as quickly as it does in her, and with one last gasp of half-laugh, half-moan, she finally shuts her eyes again, and feels his body release, the tension flooding both their senses and sending them rocketing into the sky until cool air brings them back down.

This time, it's him watching her sleep, and wondering when the walls started to fall.  



End file.
